I realised how much I love Sunday evenings.
Last night I got home from Masters to find pumpkin roasting and chicken baking, ready for the next couple of days of salads. I chopped fruit, organised snacks, planned my training for the week and set out my running gear for this morning. Then P and I settled down on the couch to watch Click (not the greatest, but an important message for a sometimes workaholic like me).
On Sunday evenings I look forward to the week ahead. I feel like I can be healthy for the week. I look forward to getting the hard workouts in, to nailing the deadlines at work, to striking that balance right. It all turns to pot after Sunday- by Wednesday, getting up after a hurried dinner to wash dishes and chop more pumpkin is unthinkable- but that Sunday evening feeling is great.
I'm home from work today. I fell off the end of my lane for the first time last night. When I looked at the times they weren't so bad (50s in 45/43/41, 100s around 1:50-2:00), but I was struggling. Red faced, laboured breathing. Combined with the ear popping of Saturday's long run, it should have been a sign. But this idiot decided to get up at 5:30 for her tempo run this morning. 2mi easy (more like 1.5, down the hill), 3 tempo, 2 easy. I did the first 2.5k in 13:20, feeling my breath struggling with every step. I realised how big the headwind was when I did the second 2.5k in 12:27, for an acceptable 5k (8:18). But I felt rotten, so I came home, rinsed off in the shower and crawled back to bed. I'm really hoping that a day of rest, fruit, fluid and vitamins will nip this thing in the bud before it fully develops. A bad cold is the absolute last thing I need right now!